Wayward
by MintToy
Summary: The night at the Goddess Tower, Dimitri wished for a world in which no one would be unjustly taken away. Byleth made her wish in silence – that one day she would see him freed from his darkness. - Missing scenes post time skip.
1. Chapter 1

_I wish for a world in which no one would ever be unjustly taken from us._

She treads up the stairs with light, careful steps. She has to tiptoe and maneuver around dead bodies and old carcasses strewn over the floors, follow dried blood stains splattered across the walls. Her nose crinkles at the smell of metal, iron and blood. Byleth wonders what horror these Imperial soldiers must have seen before they were killed.

_That's a wonderful wish._

The last time she visited the Goddess Tower had been a joyous event. The ballroom filled with life and holiday cheer. Students dancing in step. Professors indulging in fancy drinks. Even Byleth herself, watching it unfold with curiosity, because the party had been the first she ever attended. Every single one of them _oblivious_, and too swept up in excitement that besides Edelgard herself, no one predicted the foreboding war, or suspected what lurked underneath.

She finally reaches the top of the stairs and catches the view from the open window – a peaceful dawn on the horizon. She only revels in it for a second before she shifts and finds _him_there, sitting in dark shadows. She suspected it briefly, having identified the mortal wounds on those soldiers as pierces slashed with angry lances and biting force, cutting through even the toughest armour.

Her lips form a frown. For a moment, she thinks 'please' and considers 'maybe it's not him', because she doesn't want to believe. But he looks up to the click of her heels and the blue of his single eye is the same as she remembers. Her breath cuts short and she almost falters in her step.

_Oh, Dimitri._

His hair has grown, lathed with gunk and dried blood. His cheeks are dirty and muddied. Confusion and blankness cloud his visible eye, where she once saw determination burn bright so many years ago. His body is dragged and worn and scarred from battle. Even as she steps into the light, his expression is unchanged. She doesn't know how to explain with gentleness the reason she's been gone for so long, especially when she barely understands it herself.

She reaches an open hand out to him, tries to share her light, but he doesn't take it. He groans when he moves, and turns away.

"I should have known…" His voice is raspy, like it hurts to speak. "…that one day, you would be haunting me as well."

Her face falls, and she cannot fathom the swirl of emotions that course through her mind, beat at her heart. Above all else, sadness lingers foremost. She's almost unable to bear it, not used to such strong emotions that she has to cast her gaze elsewhere. With it comes a sudden, phantom pain throbbing in her chest she doesn't fully understand.

He gets up eventually, gripping his lance for balance and stands his tall height. She observes him more carefully, and can't help but think of a creature in the night. Swathed in blood and dirt. Disheveled and dressed with coarse furs. Tall and looming, bloodlust in his eye. She imagines him prowling the grounds, cold and unfeeling. No less than the beasts they've fought as teacher and student. Humanity all but intact, and underneath all that metal armour, she knows he is hollow.

He demands she not look at him with scorn, even though she feels nothing of the sort, and then swears darkly to himself that he will sever Edelgard's head himself. Threats of death and destruction roll so easily off his tongue. She wonders briefly when this violent and uncontrolled temper had taken root, but even after his angry tirade, she can't bring herself to stop him. Not yet, at least. Her words won't find their mark, not when she knows nothing of the missing years.

Instead, she says the only she thing she knows for sure, "I'm glad you're safe."

He only scoffs at her, "Am I?"

Byleth opens her mouth and nothing comes out. Her hesitation betrays her, and her silence is more than telling. He walks off without a second thought, and before following after him, she quietly reminds herself of the wish she'd made here years ago.

_I wish one day I could see you freed from your darkness._

* * *

Everybody remembers their promise.

As they work to defend the monastery from a band of thieves attempting to steal what little is left, they show up. Even five years past, they fall back to their old battle formations and await her command. She hardly has the time to register their new faces and growth, only fathoms the reunion as painfully bittersweet. After all, Dimitri had been the one to suggest the idea.

She keeps a close eye on him in particular, watches as he strikes down his foes with no mercy. He's out for blood and terrifyingly violent. The honour of battle is lost on him, even though she knows she taught him better than that.

They gather at the centre afterwards and Byleth finally inspects each and every one of her former students. She's most surprised to find Gilbert here, who claims he's been tracking down Dimitri for a while now. When he asks the prince how he managed to escape the fortress prisons of Fhirdiad, the worst is confirmed.

Dedue is allegedly dead.

She closes her eyes and offers a silent prayer. There's a collective silence from the group and at this point, she doesn't know if she can stomach much more. After all, a teacher shouldn't have to mourn their student.

* * *

She leaves them in another room to catch up with one another. Some of them take the time to grieve. Mercedes marches straight for the church afterwards, followed closely by Ashe and Annette. For her, that time will have to come later. She doesn't even wholly believe it.

Eventually, Gilbert approaches her in the council room. She keeps busy after the battle, rigorously polishing and sharpening her sword with a whetstone she found on the training grounds. As a former mercenary, or a Professor even, she was never one to remain idle. What little emotion she feels throughout the day is taken out on grinding the dull edges of her blade.

Gilbert narrates the events of the past and present – who's taken control of what territory, what vast expanse of lands the Empire has already conquered, how his search for Dimitri has led him here, and why he set out to accomplish a seemingly impossible task. From his explanation alone, she gathers that Gilbert carries his own ghosts and unfulfilled promises.

"Thank you," she says softly, chancing a glimpse of the tired man. "For finding him."

He shakes his head. "It was not me who found him. It was you, Professor."

She stiffens in her seat, but says nothing.

Gilbert sighs and scratches the back of his head. He casts his tired gaze towards the window. "I'm sure you find Dimitri has…_changed_, over the years."

_Clack!_

The whetstone slips from her hand, almost cutting an edge of her finger. Gilbert alarms at the sight, but she quickly waves off his concern. She puts the weapon down immediately, deeming her mind unfit for the task. Instead, she leans her elbows on her knees, buries her hands in her face and rubs at her temples.

_He is not the same._

After practicing much restraint and disbelief, the truth finally surfaces and the pain is akin to a hard punch to her gut. The gravity of his situation and character finally weighs down on her. All of a sudden, she finds herself missing him, of all things.

The boy wise enough to notice a young girl being dragged around, because her path had been decided by adults in a drawing room. And so he gifted her a dagger so she could carve a future for her own, one that she wanted for herself. Even back then, he understood well that your life was yours to live.

The student who desired to teach orphans, even when he still had much to learn. She watched from the sidelines as he showed them how to hold their ground, corrected their stances, practiced with dull wooden weapons and repeated several times that weapons were tools for protection and nothing else. He already knew all too well how quickly the world could turn.

The young man focused so rigidly on his studies and training. His compassion had been enough to elicit a few small smiles. She'd gotten loose with herself, slowly easing out of her stoic demeanor and mercenary mentality. It was an uncomfortable, but not unwelcome change. He willingly called her out when she slipped, saying her smile was 'mesmerizing'. He always said it with encouragement. She thought nothing of it back then, but realizes now it meant so much more. Jeralt commented once how her students brought out her humanity in ways even he couldn't.

And now.

Five years have passed and she struggles to feel anything beyond the melancholic haze surrounding the monastery. Perhaps none of this would mean so much if she hadn't made that wish. Or perhaps he's still the same person she met so many years ago. She just didn't know him at all.

He always had that lingering darkness, even at the best of times. Underneath that façade festered a hunger for vengeance. Young Dimitri phrased it so clearly. Sometimes the darkness takes hold, and becomes impossible to suppress. The five years he spent unhinged and wandering in darkness nurtured his lust for revenge. Nowadays, people only laid hands on him with the intent to kill, and he had no choice but to do the same.

Gilbert clears his throat, drawing her out of deep thought.

Forgetting her place, Byleth straightens her spine. She tries to mirror his tired expression.

"Dimitri has lost himself," she says, following up on his earlier comment. She doesn't know how else to put it.

The man shifts his weight to the other foot and rests his chin in one hand. "Yes. I fear his deep hatred and solitude have consumed him for far too long," he explains with a downcast expression. "We must bring him back from the edge on which he stands."

She nods in agreement, unable to word it better herself.

He hums with uncertainty. "It will not be a quick or easy task. In truth, I'm not even sure if my words will…" he trails off, but eventually shakes his head. "Never mind, it must be done, regardless of whatever circumstance. He is still needed in his Kingdom."

She finally looks up at him, assurance in her eyes.

"I'll do it," she offers, even as she sees dark times awaiting them in shadowed corners.

"Are you sure, Professor?"

She nods. For his sake, she would have to.

* * *

Later, everyone is gathered in the council room. She stands to one side, casting inspecting gazes to each of her students as Gilbert and Seteth discuss strategies between themselves before presenting it forward. There is much on the agenda. Talks of battle tactics, recruiting soldiers, rebuilding the monastery and more. Everybody has agreed the Empire needs to be stopped.

Eventually, Annette calls out the elephant in the room. Her leg hasn't stopped fidgeting since she sat down.

"Erm, perhaps we should wait for Dimitri?" she pipes up anxiously. "He should be here, right?"

There's a scoff from Felix, and the gesture is oddly nostalgic. "Hmph. The boar is holed up in the cathedral right now, talking nonsense to himself. I don't see him getting out anytime soon."

No one says anything, much less argues with him. Byleth just assumes everyone has seen for themselves how the years have hardened and changed their former house leader. The air is stricken with gloom now.

Naturally, Gilbert turns to her.

She promised to handle affairs concerning the wayward Prince. She figures most people are rather…_fearful_ in discussing Dimitri's condition. The way she sees it, it matters not. At the end of the day, their end goal is the same: Halt Imperial conquest and take back the Holy Kingdom. Somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind, she is certain Dimitri feels the same way.

She straightens up from her spot and gathers the attention of the room. "We can resume in his absence. I can debrief him of our plans afterwards."

* * *

People have always flocked to the church in times of need. Although their numbers have dwindled, guards, monks and merchants alike have all paid a visit at least once.

Dimitri is here all the time. From morning till night. Akin to a lost soul wandering in limbo or purgatory, waiting for judgment to strike down like lightning. He occupies the space in front of the rubble, frequently muttering to himself. Sometimes, he speaks of destruction and violence. When the voices get too loud, he pleads and begs for forgiveness. Sometimes he says nothing at all.

For him, there is only one end in sight. Edelgard's death and after that, his own. A preposterous notion – as if she would ever let him get that far.

She's spoken to him a few times. _Tried_ is a better word. He tells her to scurry out of sight and curses to himself when she doesn't. He is still unreachable. She holds her words in her tongue because they won't find their mark. He didn't even attend the vigil they held in Dedue's honour.

"Look at the creature," Felix is saying, standing a fair distance away. "It's pitiful to watch. Professor, do what you have to in order to fix him."

Byleth, distracted by her own thoughts, rests her eyes on the prince. The wide berth everybody gives him makes it easy to observe. No one dares approach too close. Her eyes shift to Felix next. He wears his perpetual scowl, but underneath she knows he's trying to figure out an end to this situation. She recognizes it as his way of showing he cares.

* * *

A familiar face treads towards the academy.

Byleth remembers his face. _General Randolph_. He stood beside Edelgard as they destroyed the monastery. Dimitri remembers too, because he's more difficult to direct. He's determined to ravage his foes and sort out his problems with senseless violence.

She keeps a close eye on him and the others. None of them are her students anymore, but old habits die hard. Five years of sleep catches up to her too – her body is not yet hardened from rigorous training and everyday battle – and she slips up. A fast-flying arrow is shot deep into her left thigh and she grits her teeth and hisses in pain. Before she finds cover, she knocks her own arrow towards the perpetrator before he can deliver another blow.

When she looks up, Dimitri has already caught up to Randolph. She curses to herself, quickly assesses the blood-stained grounds to find most of the Imperial soldiers either dead or subdued. She has to force herself against her own threshold, musters up strength because someone must stop him, and she limps over to him unerringly. The arrow is forcefully removed by her own hand, leaving a trail of blood in her wake as she ignores the biting pains.

She watches as Randolph is brought to his knees, on the verge of his death. Dimitri is smug and bloodlust festers in his visible eye that it sparks angers in her. Randolph pleads senselessly, claiming he must live for his family before he has the gall to call Dimitri a heartless monster. It only feeds her ire, because he knows nothing about what he's taken from so many people, including herself.

Byleth draws the line at Dimitri carving out his eyes, and kills Randolph herself. From behind, straight through the heart, swift and decisive. She considers it mercy, because anything by Dimitri's hand would have been ruthless and even her worst enemies don't deserve that kind of brutality on their deathbed. She quickly sheathes her sword afterwards, because even after all this time, it's still not easy.

Dimitri laughs heinously at her actions, telling her she should kill him herself if she doesn't approve. Fierce anger burns so hotly that for a second, she would earnestly consider challenging him if it meant dragging him away from his bleak and corrupted cravings for vengeance. But of course, she would never condone that. Instead, she cools down the foreign, unfamiliar rage burning inside and reminds herself there is no need for more violence in a world already plunged in war and turmoil.

What he says next is atrocious. Claiming to use her and her friends to exact his revenge until the flesh falls off their bones. Shock removes all blankness in her face, and she watches him storm off towards the monastery. The rest of them are mortified, having watched in horror of what he's become.

* * *

Byleth patches up her wounds on her own. She wraps her thigh in gauze and bandages, rubs salve on her wounds and hides the discolouration of her bruises with sleeves. News will spread to the Empire that they've made the monastery their stronghold, and she prepares for another onslaught.

She wakes up confused on some mornings. There are times when she picks up her sword and gets ready to complete her mercenary contract. Sometimes, she goes over to her desk to review lecture notes, only to find there are none. She'd also gotten used to hearing Sothis's voice as the goddess flitted about in her room. She has to remember these things belong in the past now.

When her mind is too hazy, or things get overwhelming, she trudges over to Jeralt's grave. In bright mornings, late nights, rainy weather or cold winds, she kneels down on the patchy grass and solemnly wishes for a world where she didn't have to bury him. Time is forgotten when she sits in front of his headstone, but reality always hits its inevitable stride and she remembers this is hardly the time to grieve. Not before long, she schools on a blank and vacant expression, not minding the familiar faces that watch over her in concern.

* * *

"Professor! Over here!"

Byleth looks to her left, where Mercedes, Annette and Ashe are beckoning her to sit at their table. She approaches over somewhat sheepishly, because she knows she should be spending more time with her students and honing them for battle.

"Mercedes managed to convince the chefs to let her bake a few sweets. You should try some," Annette says excitedly, pushing forward the tray of small cakes and confectionaries in her direction.

She hesitates for a brief moment before taking one of the jelly squares in her mouth. Although she never had a sweet tooth, she manages a small smile, just for them. For some reason, they all seem to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Did you know? Dedue used to help me with kitchen duty. Have you ever tried his cooking? I'd say it was his hidden talent," Annette strikes up conversation, taking one of the small cakes into her mouth in one bite. For a small girl, she's always had a ravenous appetite for sweet foods.

Ashe lights up brightly. "I've tried his cooking too! You can really taste the Duscur inspiration. He was always a much better chef than I am, that's for sure."

Byleth gazes over them with fondness. She's glad they've forged these unbreakable bonds. Even if one of them is gone, they choose to remember the good he's done. As the two of them continue to reminisce of Dedue and his cuisine, Mercedes quietly turns to her.

"Professor, I must say. You seem rather…_sad_, as of late," the soft-spoken girl remarks, a gentle smile gracing her features. "Are you also thinking of Dedue?"

Her eyes settle on the wooden table underneath her hands. "Always."

Mercedes waits for a moment before speaking again, "And Dimitri, as well?"

Byleth still cannot look her in the eye. "I think of him too."

"We figured as much…" Mercedes leans back in her chair and looks up at the ceiling. Ashe and Annette have quieted their conversation in favour of listening in. "I don't think either of us have ever seen you show so much frustration as you did in our recent battle."

She shrinks in her seat as shame tugs at her. Perhaps she got carried away back there.

"I'm sorry," she prioritizes first. "I hope you understand I'm not angry with Dimitri, but rather the circumstances that have led him here. He's much different now, as you know, and I ask that you be patient with him."

Ashe nods his head. "Of course. He's always been good to us, just like Dedue. When we were students, he refused to let me address him so formally."

"Me too! And he used to tell me stories of my Father even before I connected with him. It was nice, actually. He said it felt like he knew me already before we entered the academy, because Father always spoke of me."

Mercedes hums in agreement. "Dimitri also helped me with sword training. Although I'm still lacking in that skill, I think it was sweet of him to help, especially since I almost swung at him. In return, I taught him how to mend his clothes. He was a very good student."

Byleth softens at the stories shared around the table. She shares her own too. It's hard to equate the man he is today to the person he was before, but if her students have no problem seeing him as such, even with his cruel and callous behaviour, then she should do the same.

"We're confident he'll come to his senses one day. Until then, we should help him however we can," Mercedes pipes up, with a sense of assurance.

For the first time today, she fills with hope.

* * *

He still spends most days and nights at the cathedral. It's almost reassuring, because she expects to find him there, instead of searching the monastery in fear he has gotten up and left. The only worrying thing is that he barely leaves the church grounds. He denies himself sleep, evidenced by the darkness under his eyes. But she thinks of his health, having never seen him take a ration from the kitchen, much less eat a morsel of anything.

She swipes a couple of things from the kitchen one day and wraps it in paper. A small loaf of bread and dried fruits. Someone told her one day he doesn't care much for taste anyway. Her boots click and echo as she draws nearer, and he turns his head away from her when she kneels on the ground beside him.

Byleth prods her offering towards him, lays it on the ground where he can see with his good eye and utters out a simple command, "You should eat."

He closes his only eye, still turned away from her. "Go away."

She shakes her head and doesn't get too caught up in his brusque words. "You'll waste away and grow weary if you don't," she counters.

He groans to himself. A rough, grating sound, and says nothing else. He's rather subdued today. The last time she visited, there was no stopping the slew of threats that escaped his tongue. She's gotten used to that side of him, knows not to indulge in his murderous fantasies. Instead, she treats him with a level of hardness, because he doesn't recognize comfort or kindness when it's given to him. She redirects his thoughts instead. Questions his motives with caution and reminds him to take care of himself. Never engages in a fight or argument when none is needed.

She says nothing else and leaves him for the day. Later when she checks on him again, she notes with some measure of gladness that the plate is empty.

* * *

The next war council meeting goes awry.

They are short on soldiers and resources, and there are talks of requesting backup from the Fraldarius house and joining forces with them. When Gilbert asks Dimitri if they should dispatch their troops to the Imperial capital or the Kingdom capital, his answer is predictable.

"We will take the Imperial capital. There, I will kill her. Nothing could be more to the point."

The group remains divided on the subject, but Seteth passes her the final say as the stand-in leader of the church and she chooses the opposite. For the army's sake, and especially Dimitri's sake, they should take back the Kingdom capital. There are so many people awaiting his return to Fhirdiad.

He turns to her, a cross look on his features. "If Lady Rhea is being held prisoner in the Empire, we don't have time to waste taking back Fhirdiad. Can you deny it?"

He is only testing her, making her out to be foolish in front of the council. She doesn't bite. Gilbert senses the foreboding tension and cuts in before anything can ensue. "Either way, we are in need of numbers. It is essential we secure backup."

When the meeting ends, Byleth keeps her ground and waits until most of them have filed out of the board room. Dimitri remains, sharp and cutting words waiting in his sleeve, intended just for her.

"We're not ready to march into Enbarr," she says point blank.

"You understand nothing," he scoffs, jaw clenched and hands balled into fists at his side. "The time we spend in wait only grows her power. She will have taken all of Fódlan before you finally decide to fight back!"

Byleth furrows her brow and presses her lips into a thin line. "You would rush in haste to fight Edelgard instead? You would fall on her doorstep before you even get the chance to see her."

"That woman must be stopped!" he grounds out in exasperation, slamming a clenched fist on the desk and alerting the attention of the room. "I will go alone if I have to!"

She drops her hands and narrows her eyes at him, face lined with hardness. A bitter sensation settles in her mouth at the thought of him wandering off on his own.

"No. I won't let you."

Dimitri laughs. A maniacal, delirious laughter. He steps one foot forward as a crooked smile finds his lips, like a man possessed. "You, Professor? Are you going to be the one to stop me?" His voice is mocking. A taunt, above all else. And she understands he means to intimidate her when he draws closer with a crazed look in his eye. "Be my guest! I dare you to try!"

When he gets too close, she shoves him backwards with both hands, just enough to afford her some distance. The sword of the Creator hums and hangs at her hip, but she makes no motion to withdraw it.

"Don't challenge me," she warns and her voice is mostly even. Intimidation isn't her strong suit, but her eyes stay fixed on his single one with a stubborn determination. Even still, she steels herself should he ever reach for the lance at his back.

He shakes his head and at her adamant insistence, takes a step back. "Then I swear to you _this_, my dear Professor." The hissing voice that comes out of that mouth is a poor mockery of Dimitri's own, dissonant to her ears. "If you ever get in my way, or you dare to stop me from severing that woman's head, I will not hesitate to kill you too."

With a huff, he turns his heel and gruffly storms out the room. She waits for the wave of shock to pass, and then her brave face is gone, replaced with an old and tired expression. She finally lets out the breath she didn't know she was holding and suddenly, disappointment weighs heavy on her shoulders and she forces herself to sit down. Her breaths even out slowly.

Footsteps draw near, and she glances up to the waiting eyes of Felix and Sylvain, who'd been privy to that uncomfortable exchange. Felix is the first to speak.

"There's no use talking to him when he gets like that. Nothing is going to reach him," he offers rather brusquely, even though his words carry some ounce of sympathy.

She looks to Sylvain, who appears quite lax despite their circumstance.

"What he means by that is Dimitri's had his rough patches before. Today was just one of them, so you shouldn't be too hard on yourself. Besides, dark expressions don't really suit you," he remarks loosely. She raises a small brow at his nonchalance and as inattentive as Sylvain appears, he seems to read her cue. "Even I still have a hard time accepting who he is, but everyone has their faults, right? And he's my friend, first and foremost. All I'm saying is, I'm not worrying just yet. As much as I hate seeing him like this, I have faith he'll turn around eventually."

"Tch. He'll be grovelling when the time comes."

_Groveling? _

She creases her brow, tries really hard to understand, but the redhead just shakes his head. "For now, the most we can do is keep a close eye on him and make sure he's safe until he figures it out."

"Hmph. That mind of his though. So consumed with the dead. The boar has no control of himself. I'm this close to being done with him."

For some reason, Sylvain gets a laugh out of that one. It confuses her wildly, because they don't seem to grasp the weight of the situation. Dimitri is on the brink of madness and they jest as if it were another day at the academy.

She thinks it over again though. They've known him longer. They're more familiar with his patterns of behaviour. She remembers questioning it frequently then. The way Felix constantly muttered his distaste for the Prince and his 'monstrous' qualities, even going so far as refusing to call him by name. Or when Sylvain raised a brow and kept a worried expression throughout their battle in Remire, because of all the chaotic violence they witnessed. She didn't know what all of that meant back then. His darkness had been kept a heavily guarded secret between nobles.

Sylvain is the more perceptive one once again. "I know it's hard to forget all the awful things he says and does, but I ought to give him a chance. We've been friends since we were kids. I owe him that much, at least."

She pauses her train of thought. "What makes you so sure he can change?"

The redhead shrugs, but it's not without a level of uncertainty. "He's done it before. Besides, he has you helping him this time. To be honest, he never meant for you to see this side of him, but the fact that you have, and you're _still_ willing to see him through it…well, he should consider himself blessed."

_Blessed? _Mild confusion washes over again. She tries to wrap her head around it, the idea as clear as mud. And even when they leave, the thought sticks with her for the rest of the day.

* * *

The meeting scheduled at Aillel isn't without complication. Besides the scorching heat and blistering fumes in the land said to be born of the goddess' rage, it turns out there was a spy among them and soldiers awaited their arrival. Somehow, and Byleth still isn't sure how the goddess is carrying her this far, they make it back to the monastery relatively in one piece. Rodrigue has chosen to come with them, along with several of his troops and men. She is glad to see their army and resources growing in number.

She's avoided clashing with Dimitri in any way she can. Their last conversation is still a fresh wound. Besides, Rodrigue's presence seems to draw out some sense in the prince. She would be foolish to tamper with that. If she recalls correctly, this man had taken him in, even treated him as his own, when the King had passed.

Once again, she cleans her wounds on her own. She douses her burns and blisters in salt water, hisses at the searing contact, and pulls the sleeves over her arms when she leaves her quarters. Later that night, she ambles up the stairs of the Goddess Tower.

On their way back from Aillel, she came across a…_revelation_, so to speak. She'd been sitting with her former students, sorting out inventory of weapons and medicinal supplies. The routine has a soothing, meditative effect on her, so she was minding her own business for the most part. Somehow, they started reminiscing about their academy days – a frequent topic of conversation – and what they had done on the night of the ball. She'd been partially listening at that point, and only glanced up when they addressed her.

"Professor, are you aware of the legends associated with the Goddess Tower?" Ingrid piped up, features friendly.

She nodded. "My understanding is that wishes made in that tower will come true." Briefly, she mulled over the innocent wish she made there five years ago and as an afterthought, she added quietly, "I'm not sure if I believe it."

"Aww, come on. That's only a small part of it. The tower is supposed to be a place where lovers meet, and the wishes represent the vows and promises you make to one another. That's why the person you bring there should be important to you, like someone you love," Sylvain explained. Ironically, he then went on to list all the girls he had taken there, much to the chagrin of the others.

Her face did not imply as much, but the information was new to her. When Dimitri asked her to meet him there, she thought nothing of it. She was clueless, even as he explained his disbelief for the old legend and still made a wish. For the sake of tradition, she made her own as well.

Afterwards, he considered if it would make more sense to wish they were together forever. By her own logic, that would cross the boundaries of their professional relationship, so she offered him a blank stare in return. He followed up nicely saying he improved in the art of joke telling.

Aware now of the romantic implications of the tower, he was right. It would have made more sense. She simply didn't understand back then. As a Professor and even to this day, she's socially inept at times, often failing to understand human conventions and emotions. Her students, and even other Professors, teased her often or said all kinds of crazy things to get her to emote anything besides her blank gaze.

"Professor, did you ever meet anybody at the Goddess tower? Or made a wish of your own?" Annette had asked, giddy with a dreamy look in her eyes.

"Yes. I suppose I have," she tells truthfully, not expecting the collective shock that flash across their faces. Much to their disappointment, she'd gotten out of that conversation courtesy of Rodrigue, who requested to speak with her.

Byleth remembers that conversation. That's how she got here.

Resting her hand against the stone wall, she stares out at the open window and gazes out into the starry sky and white moon. The same view from five years ago, when she made a promise to Dimitri. She understands now it wasn't a wish, but more like a vow.

She repeats it to herself again, but with more hope this time.

_I wish one day I could see you freed from your darkness._

And instead of relying on old legends to make it happen, she's determined to see it through for herself.


	2. Chapter 2

So much blood is spilt at the Bridge of Myrddin.

She has to revert back to her mercenary ways. Taking down enemies with quick and efficient swipes. Clearing paths with the judgment and tact she learned from her years suppressing bandit hideouts. Aiming for critical points – head, heart, jugular, knees, ankles, open spaces between armoured units. She feels neither proud or brave of her actions.

In the midst of chaos, her mind comes to a shrieking halt when suddenly, she realizes what she's done and whose life she's taken.

_Damn it! _A slew of curses run unfiltered across her mind.

She didn't see him at first. Her hands moved faster than her mind. She didn't register in time that it had been _Ferdinand von Aegir_ on that steed, shooting her a wide-eyed look of surprise when she positioned her bow in his direction. Her eyes went to his lance instead, and when he raised it, she fired her arrow hard and it found his chest.

She realizes her error a second later, when he falls from his horse, lands hard on his back, blood spills from his front and she catches his familiar gaze. And just like that, her façade is broken and blankness gone. The world becomes muffled and then muted, and she runs to his limp form even though the path isn't clear.

"Oh no. Please, _please_, stay alive," she begs futile. On her knees, she untangles his limbs. Her arrow is lodged just below his breast and jutting from his ribs. She presses on his wound to stop it from bleeding. Her breath shakes all throughout, her hands colour with red and she bites back a panicked scream. He's gasping, not breathing, and a minute later, he's choking up blood that splatters on her face and armour.

"Professor!" Mercedes's voice.

When Byleth looks up, a soldier has come too close, his sword already raised at his side. Just when she turns and withdraws her sword, the man is cut down before her eyes. A lance catches his shoulder and forces him backwards. Byleth finds Ingrid in her periphery, who nods once at her before riding her Pegasus horse back to the thick of battle.

A steely resolve replaces the uncertainty on her face. No other students should have to die today, especially not her own.

She forces herself up. "Mercedes!" Her voice, now sharp with command, cuts through the murmur of clashing swords and growling beasts. When their healer arrives, even Mercedes notices her change in tone and posture. Byleth only gestures behind her.

"If you can save him, do so. If not, return to battle," she says, back to snapping short-fire commands out of necessity. She ducks out of sight a moment later, joining the others in arms and Mercedes doesn't argue with her.

* * *

Hours later, Byleth surveys the aftermath of battle. The air smells of fire, metal and blood. It will take several days of rain to wash the stains off these floors. In front of her, Ladislava is dead on the ground, eyes and mouth still wide open from the scream that tore through her mouth. The beasts they fought have turned into bloody piles of muck.

Her vacant stare settles on two of her students. Just ahead, Lorenz lies in a pool of his own blood. It's clear who bears the heavy responsibility. Annette is sitting on her knees nearby, shoulders still shaking, hands clenched and wrapped tight around her. Beside her, to Byleth's surprise, stands Felix. His eyes are closed, face turned to the ground. Perhaps silence is all they need.

Eventually, Annette gets up on unsteady feet, and Byleth doesn't know what she's saying to him. Her face is pale as she whispers something with tremendous difficulty. She holds out her hands for him to see and Byleth notices they're stained with blood that doesn't belong to her. Not far, Gilbert watches with a solemn gaze, thinking there's nothing he can do to rid of his daughter's shame.

Byleth looks at her own hands, frustration and anger already sealed and bottled inside her. Mercedes finds her later and the somber look on her face is enough to confirm what she already knows.

* * *

"Dedue?"

Dedue is alive. He's back. He's breathing. It takes a few minutes for it to sink. She'd just taken the life of a student, and now another appears before her.

When Ingrid escorts her to see him – she'd been so caught in the chaos of battle to mind his presence – she doesn't know how to react. All sorts of thoughts wash over at the same time. Her mind flits between anguish, doubt and relief, and so her face just scrunches up in contorted confusion and pain, but it's only her emotions manifesting in ways she can't properly express.

"Professor." Dedue bows. Seeing the scars on his face and hearing his voice strikes a painful chord. "I am glad to see you in one piece after so many years."

Slowly, her face molds into resignation.

"Certain events have prevented me from taking care of His Highness the past five years. I am grateful you found him, and that you are taking care of him. I am in your debt once again." His proper speech and wooden tone rings so familiar and true. "I wish to fight at His Highness's side," he continues. "Please allow me to join your group once more."

Byleth manages a small smile and nods once, "Of course."

The Blue Lions, although not entirely whole, are finally complete again.

To the surprise of others, she reaches up and lightly touches Dedue's cheek, just to feel the warmth of life under her fingertips and know he's alive and real. She hopes the soft gesture makes up for all the things she leaves unsaid.

Afterwards, she stands to the side and allows the others to flock and fawn over him. His expression cracks and the hard edges of his face soften at the sudden attention. Mercedes hugs him and hides her tears, Sylvain bombards him with questions about the missing years, Ashe promises to cook for him later, and Ingrid smiles with relief and contentment.

Byleth looks for Dimitri and finds him with Rodrigue. Even as the Fraldarius leader speaks to him, his gaze is trained on his peers. The moment doesn't last. He catches her staring and promptly turns away.

* * *

Byleth sleeps for nearly a full day when they return to the monastery. Someone was kind enough to leave a serving from the kitchen at her doorstep. She has complete faith Dedue will do the same for Dimitri in her stead from now on.

She exits her room to an evening dusk. Her feet take her straight to the cathedral grounds. She's made a habit out of it apparently. The path is so familiar now. She understands a small part of why Dimitri spends every waking moment here. No amount of praying can wash the blood off your hands so instead you beg for forgiveness.

Strange enough, he's not standing in front of the rubble today. Her brows crease at the sight, as if he's missing from the picture. Instead, she finds Mercedes and Dedue standing in the middle of the floor. As she draws near, she catches a bit of their uttered prayers to both Duscur and Fódlan gods. Prayers for safekeeping and for the war to end soon.

One of them catches her waiting presence before long.

"Oh, you've finally woken up. I hope you're feeling better," Mercedes pipes up softly, not to disturb Dedue in prayer.

The man opens his eyes anyway and turns to see who's approached. "Are you looking for His Highness?"

Many have developed a habit of associating her with the Prince, as if she's become his caretaker. Her students are no exception. She wonders his whereabouts so she nods anyway.

"Dimitri suffered minor wounds from our last battle. We managed to get him to the infirmary to treat them," Mercedes answers with nonchalance, even though Byleth can imagine the struggle it must have taken to get him there.

Dedue nods. "He is resting there as we speak, courtesy of Mercedes's patience and healing magic."

Byleth mutters a quick 'thank you' before turning her heel.

She arrives at the infirmary to a comforting sight. Dimitri asleep on the bed, more serene than she's ever seen him, while Sylvain and Ingrid sit on either side. His fur cloak rests on the back of a chair, most of the blood stains and dirt washed off. Pieces of his armour are stacked along the wall. And even without all that, Dimitri still looks too big for the bed.

She looks to his peers. Sylvain shoots her a smile and raises a finger to his lips in a hushing motion. When he points across him, he doesn't mean just Dimitri, but Ingrid as well. She's dozing off in her chair, arms crossed in front of her as her head lulls to her breathing.

"He's been asleep for most of today," Sylvain speaks up softly. "Took a whole lot of work and patience to get him up here, but here he is. Finally."

Byleth casts her gaze on the Prince, noticing now his arms and body are wrapped in bandages.

"He desperately needs the rest. Based on what we saw, he barely even recovered from our last few battles. Burns everywhere, infected wounds, nasty cuts that weren't closed properly…" Sylvain exhales deeply and leans back on his chair. "…stubborn fool he is."

Ingrid grunts softly, lulled awake despite his efforts. She blinks her bleary eyes and rubs her neck as she glances around the room. Her voice is groggy as it comes out, "Ugh…how long was I asleep for?"

The redhead leans back slightly to catch a glimpse of the clock. "About an hour now."

She sighs in exasperation and shoots him her classic look. "You should have woken me."

Sylvain isn't one to be scolded. "Nah. You need your rest too. Besides, you looked so peaceful. And cute, sleeping so soundly. I much more enjoyed watching you than Dimitri over here."

She groans. If they didn't have to be quiet, she'd counter back. Regardless, she quits while she's ahead and brushes the pettiness aside. She turns to watch Dimitri rest. Before anything else, Sylvain gets up, his chair creaking lightly under him.

"You know what? I'll go brew you some tea. Care to have one, Professor?"

Byleth shakes her head. Once he leaves the room, silence reigns. It doesn't last long.

"Did you know? Dimitri taught me something important about knighthood once."

"What was it?" she inquires gently.

Ingrid looks away then, eyes shifting to the floorboards. She'd always been the type to carry her burdens in silence. "I've told you about Glenn before, haven't I?"

Her professor nods.

"Well, I thought he was the perfect knight. He served the King well, even sacrificed his life in battle. After that, he became a hero and now he's the reason I'm on this path to become a knight myself. Back then, I even wanted to marry him."

The confession rolls off her lips so easily that it surprises her. Ingrid isn't one to speak of marriage lightly. One would think she might even abhor the thought of it.

"I molded my ideas of knighthood around him, until His Highness suggested otherwise. Truth is, maybe he died with a heavy heart. Maybe even regret. Doesn't sound so glamorous anymore, does it?" Her teacher doesn't say anything, not that she expects her to. The blonde just shakes her head and straightens her back. "Anyway, it doesn't deter me from pursuing my goal. He merely taught me that knighthood isn't about sacrifice or becoming a hero, it's about protecting someone you care about."

Byleth smiles, seeing now how much she's grown. Ingrid seldom reveals personal things about herself.

She follows up with a hollow sigh. "My Father is opposed to it still. Even now, he intends to marry me off to secure my family's nobility within the kingdom, because I was born with a crest."

There's a snort from the side and Byleth watches as Sylvain returns with two cups in hand. He hands one to Ingrid, who mutters a quiet thanks.

"Your old man is still ragging on about that, huh?"

She nods, blowing at the edges of her teacup.

"I'd give up my crest too if I could."

Sylvain says it so quietly she could have missed it. Byleth almost feels like a bystander. It never occurred to her how much these two had in common. She's beginning to see how much their lives have been shaped by their crests, something of which they had no control. It is a disjointed notion of the world. To be born with a crest is to be born lucky, and yet she stares at the two in front of her and knows it to be a lie.

Inwardly, Byleth thanks Jeralt for not imposing or even allowing her life to be dictated by such. As if something as simple as what you're born with is the most you have to be proud of.

There's a groan from the bed and all heads turn to Dimitri. She looks on with wary anticipation, and finds herself confused by their rather calm dispositions.

"He gets nightmares," Ingrid pipes up, as if reading her mind. "He'll shake and mumble things in his sleep, but he never wakes from them. They usually pass on their own."

It's exactly as she says. Dimitri starts tossing lightly, head shifting from one side to another. The incoherent mutters come next. His hands clench, body stiffens and sweat drips from his hairline as a pained expression takes over. He breaks into low, uneven and choked sobs and Byleth forgets herself. Sylvain and Ingrid watch interest as she moves over to him, takes his hand and makes room for her to sit at his bedside. She barely engages with anyone, let alone with a level of intimacy.

She leans forward slightly, frames herself in his line of sight. A gentle hand goes to his forehead to wipe the sweat off his brow and she brushes the hair sticking on his face, tucks it behind his ear. She's vulnerable where she is. He could easily wake and lunge at her.

She glances over his shaking form. To distract him from the noise, she cards her fingers through his locks and prays for the terrors to leave. She offers him her warmth and light, which is what she tried to do the day she found him at the Goddess Tower.

Sylvain and Ingrid aren't surprised when it works. He doesn't wake. His mutterings cease. Muffled sobs turn into quiet breathing and he doesn't become restless and fitful. They still latch to her every thought and action, and watch as a curiosity molds her expression. When Dimitri is quiet again, her hand goes to his chest instead. For a while, she revels in his heartbeat and observes the rise and fall of his chest. And then she hears it for herself. She leans forward and lays her head on his chest, her ear pressed against his heart.

For a while, she just listens.

His pulse beats strong and loud. She has to wonder why it sounds different from her own. Hers always seems more mechanical, not as robust.

Perhaps it's because she'd been a stillborn. It was confirmed in Jeralt's writings. She was lifeless once, no beating heart to begin with and now the ability to feel and express is a daily struggle. Dimitri, on the other hand, feels too much. So much that he's driven to madness. Maybe that's why his heart beats so strong with life.

Byleth draws back and blankness finds her face again.

She's still uncertain. When she rises to stand, she bows at the waist towards her students.

"Thank you for keeping watch over him," she says, before leaving the room to ponder her realization.

* * *

Byleth forgets about the young girl who begged to join their group. Her name is Fleche. They formally meet at the next council meeting. Her own thirst for vengeance reminds her eerily of Dimitri.

Speaking of which, the Prince is awake now and has been for several days. His ghosts have wasted no time as he easily slips back to his abrasive and erratic form. Every offer and attempt to distract him is spurned and rejected. She keeps her eyes on him throughout the table discussion.

Both the Empire and Alliance are making advances. If they take advantage of the situation, three military forces will clash at Gronder Field. What a shame. Taking a chance to fight old friends, wasting memories of teamwork and camaraderie.

Edelgard might show, which sways the vote to a majority, even as her own students show hesitation. Dimitri shows no such thing and it makes her tick. He shares no misgivings about killing members of the Alliance, whom she suggested they try recruiting to their side. Instead, she sees the beginnings of something cruel and terrible. Students fighting each other. Dimitri losing himself to frenzy and hysteria at the mere sight of his stepsister. All their efforts to appease his manic desire for vengeance becoming in vain. Byleth betraying herself, because she never wanted another student's blood on her hands.

She stays when the meeting is over. The firm expression she shoots Gilbert and Rodrigue prompts them to stay behind as well.

When everyone has left the room, Rodrigue breaks silence. "You don't approve of this plan, do you?"

Byleth shakes her head.

There's frustrated a sigh from Gilbert, which he's been doing a lot lately. "Sacrifices must be made, Professor. You know as much as I do how much the war has already taken from us," he justifies, tone cutting and bleak. "If recruiting the Alliance falls within your interest, there's no reason to pass up the opportunity to meet them there. For all we know, the war could end at Gronder Field if everything goes according to plan."

She closes her eyes. Gilbert has grown fast and weary in these short months, and his patience is starting to thin. He desires to end this war once and for all, for the sake of Holy Kingdom, his liege and his daughter. Byleth knows she cannot argue with that. Their goal has always been to stop the Empire, no matter the cost.

Afterwards, she offers him a curt nod, as if to rescind her previous thoughts.

His expression loses some of its edges. "I apologize. It does not elude me how much responsibility has fallen on your shoulders, both on and off the field..." The downcast expression he wears is one of an unfulfilled man. "Truly, I am ashamed I cannot do more for you."

She acknowledges the sentiment with a nod. Shifting to the other, Rodrigue's expression has become rather curious. She raises him a brow.

He clears his throat first. "Professor, I noticed you seemed rather invested in Dimitri throughout the meeting. More so than usual, I mean. Are you troubled by something?"

If she feels worried or fearful at all, it doesn't reach her face. "I suspect he might leave."

"Leave?" The two older men repeat it in almost perfect unison.

She nods again. "Yes. He's threatened to do it before."

Rodrigue's brows crease, first in doubt and disbelief, but then she watches as it fades into thoughtful consideration.

"Perhaps it's best we keep a closer eye on him then."

* * *

Days pass and she grows in anticipation. She keeps tabs on his movements until he retires to his quarters, or sleeps on one of the church pews. There are days he's in no condition to do such bold things – mornings and nights he spends on his knees, sobbing and begging the voices in his head to forgive him. And there are days he spends in rage, painting his sister as the devil, forgetting himself and forgetting she's one of the only family he has left.

A few days before they plan to depart, she has a terrible foreboding. He barely slept last night and he was absent for the meeting. He's lashed out few times already. He seems more deluded and tortured today, and they're so close that he might as well go off on his own.

Afternoon light pours from the ruined roof of the church and Byleth looks to Dedue. She cranes her neck up and searches his eyes for thought. Maybe he has a similar inkling, but instead, the Duscur man confirms something she's long suspected now.

"His Highness is very much back to his old self," he pipes up, noticing her curious gaze. "He's been this way for the majority of time I've known him. The young man you met at the academy was someone trying to suppress his nature. Regardless, I still feel he is too kind to be king. So tortured by his compassion for the fallen it has driven him mad."

So it's true. She hardly knew him. He'd been hiding himself the entire time. He'd been this vengeful and manic person much longer than the chivalrous house leader.

Her eyes move to Dimitri, gaze softer.

Dedue takes careful note of it. "Professor. His Highness has always felt much for you too and I believe he still does. Please do not forget that."

* * *

Later that night, her premonition proves right.

Just an hour past midnight, she's sitting atop the stone steps of the monastery's entrance. The night air is chilly and she rubs her arms for warmth. She's alone here. The church lacks guards to assign watch for all the hours in the day.

The sound of footsteps draw nearer. She twists around where sure enough, a tall figure with light hair stands a distance away. He's barely visible in the darkness. A disappointed sigh escapes her lips and she rises to stand despite the cold stiffness in her bones.

He emerges from the shadowy tunnel and steps into the dim moonlight, stopping when he identifies who blocks his path up ahead. His lone eye widens a fraction. He's surprised to see her. It's the same look he wore the day she found him. He thinks she's one of his ghosts coming to stop him, but then he grunts and shakes his head, reminding himself what he set out to do.

Sometimes he can barely differentiate what's real.

"Get out of my way," he says darkly.

She shakes her head.

"I'll say it again. Leave this place at once and let me go!"

"I won't do that," she voices calmly. Her sword is ready at her hip.

He grumbles and snarls, but it's not aimed at her. The struggle he fights is internal, like his mind is split in half. "You don't understand! I'd hate to kill you too!"

Briefly, she remembers what Dedue's words. _He's always felt much for you._

Her gaze softens. "Don't leave then. You're safe here."

His eye glowers suddenly. Something snaps inside of him. A wicked smirk curves his lips and he's lost himself. The vengeful monster has taken rein. Whatever hold she has on him is gone. He squares his feet on the ground and finally reaches for the lance at his back. It might take a goddess miracle to calm him down.

He cocks his head to one side, appraising her for battle. "You leave me with no choice, Professor! I'll cut you down too if I have to!"

She draws her weapon and that's when he flinches forward, charging with an erupting rage and fire as he bears down his first strike and forces her to defend. Their weapons clash and her sword ignites in her hands, alight with her crest.

It takes all her strength just to hold him back and stop him from overpowering her. Dimitri is heavier and has always had the physical advantage. With their faces aligned, he must see her face so clearly. He growls and grits his teeth, his face set into hardness.

"Dimitri, stop this!"

He doesn't listen, instead puts his weight on his lance before thrusting at her middle with deft hands and quick precision. She careens to one side, barely missing a straight puncture to her gut, and forces down another strike, which he counters easy.

"I already told you not to get in my way!"

She grunts against him and when he withdraws, she quickly ducks at a swing to her neck. She stays back this time to play on the defensive. The muscles in her arms still ache. Her palms burn. Her teeth hurt. Her body quivers with exhaustion. By sheer force alone, he could end her life if he truly desired it.

"Is that all you got?" he jeers, challenge edging his tone. He takes one step forward, and she takes one step back. He doesn't miss it. "Ha! Scared, aren't you? I thought you were better than that!"

Dimitri grips his blade in a two-fisted grip and snaps forward, mad with power and rage, lightning behind his teeth. She swiftly dodges the lunge of his lance, and then defends herself against another. It's not long before his attacks become relentless. One strike after another, thoughtless and coming from all directions. Their metals clash and clatter with every slash. She feels his anger burn at every turn. He's determined to find blood.

Her hands move to their own accord, even as the hilt of her sword burns and blisters her hands. She forces him to swing wide and takes advantage of his opening. Her free hand conjures the symbols in the air and she casts fire to his chest, chucking him backwards several feet away.

_Reckless,_ she thinks. Blinded by his own delusion. She knows his weaknesses better than he does.

He makes a frustrated noise, but gets to his feet quickly. That same crooked smile finds his lips again as he wipes blood off his cheek. He's never resembled a boar more than he does now.

"Finally taking this seriously, huh?" His body contorts into battle position, and he calculates her from afar. He lets his excitement and destruction possess him. "Come at me with all you got then! I've always wanted to fight you for real!"

He raises his lance again, but she changes her tack. Engaging him with violence was never what she wanted. To his surprise, she sheathes her sword instead.

A boisterous laugh erupts from his lips. He must think her senseless. "Are you giving up?"

There are two sides to him fighting for control. She needs to draw out the one who might listen. "Tell me, Dimitri," she calls out, voice steady and even. "Is this what you truly desire? My death on your hands?"

He scoffs loudly as disbelief paints his expression. "This is no time for discussion! Draw your blade!"

She shakes her head and ignores his demands. "You wished five years ago that no one else would be taken away from you. Do you remember?"

"Drop this nonsense, Professor! You can't help me."

Her lips press into a thin line. She closes her eyes. "I'm sorry I couldn't," she says, voice warm and gentle. Her breath hitches. "I didn't abandon you on purpose."

His lone eye widens a crack, like a loosened seam. His lips move, but he struggles to get words out.

Byleth drops her hands and maintains her warm tone. "I don't want to fight you anymore."

There's a shift in him. She can almost see it in his face. His mind is warring with itself once again. "Professor, I-"

His lance drops to the ground with a loud clack, and then he falls to his knees, clutching both sides of his head. The voices must be screaming again. Automatically, she moves closer to kneel in front of him and lays a gentle hand on his shaking shoulders.

"Ah- Father, I swear to you-" His throat catches and his gravelly voice shudders. "I promise I'll kill her. I'll see to it you're avenged. Edelgard, she's still-"

"Not real, Dimitri. Don't listen to them-"

Suddenly, he hurls forward into a loud, barking coughing fit. She's in his way, and she's forced to catch his hauled body in her arms. As best as she can, she holds him steady, rubs his back gently as he heaves and hacks into the ground behind her. He's still healing too, it seems. Long nights spend in a cold church hasn't helped him in that regard.

He collapses and slackens in her hold after, drained and empty. His head lays atop her shoulder, and she rearranges her arms around his middle to keep him from slipping. Even still, she reaches one hand to his head to finger his locks, much like she did when he suffered his nightmares. It must be a familiar distraction, because he hushes once he feels it.

"I…it's so loud in here…" he utters with raspy breath.

"I know," she whispers. The voices haven't left him and she adds suddenly, "I'm so sorry."

He jerks in her hold and draws back to sit on his knees, relieving himself off her. When she catches his eye, he looks rather surprised to see her. Like he didn't expect to hear her voice. He gives her the same look again. He thinks she's a ghost. Their clash is all but forgotten. Like the Goddess Tower all over again, but instead of hissing violent threats, he just grits his teeth.

He grunts softly. "It hurts…" There's a brokenness in his voice.

"Where?"

He swallows hard. "My head."

"Okay," she says, voice watery. She's just as shaken too. "Let me help you."

He doesn't resist when she places a hand on his shoulder, willing him to slack under her touch. She shifts their bodies and guides him to her, carrying him with her small hands and not stopping until he's settled across her lap. She holds his head close to her chest and brushes his hair to glance over his grown features. He's never allowed her to get this close before.

He opens his eye when she touches him. His brows crease at her expression.

"Professor, you're…"

She sees it before she feels it – teardrops falling on his cheek. She supposes that part of him never changed. He was always so observant of her emotions.

She shakes her head, tells him to think nothing of it, but it's a white lie. She can only remember one other time she cried and it was for her Father. With her sleeve, she wipes the tears from his cheek. For reassurance, she tries to smile, but he doesn't buy it.

"Was it me?" he asks, voice laden with heaviness. "Did I do this to you?"

She shakes her head furiously, but doesn't know if it reaches him. He shifts in her arms and settles more comfortably, and then he's quiet after. His breathing calms and he closes his eye. He stays like that until he's fallen asleep.

She takes the chance while she has it and presses her forehead against his cold skin. She cradles his head, nuzzles his hair and warms his face with her breath. She closes her eyes too, content to listen to his quiet breathing. Eventually, she loses track of time.

She looks up when she senses movement from the side. Her gaze is cast towards the monastery gates where Rodrigue is standing. He approaches the pair quietly and she allows him to assess the sleeping Prince in her arms – more peaceful than his usual. His eyes then shift to her face, where he finds none of the blankness he's used to.

"Please. Could you help me carry him?"

He doesn't say anything, just nods. Gently, they stand him up and support him on either side. After a small discussion, they decide his room is best. Warm and familiar, because even now he still teeters on an edge. He's barely awake as they walk him past the market and pond.

The older man senses her struggle before she does. One look at her and he can only assume her bones are aching and emotions running wild with bare understanding. Dimitri is drifting in and out of consciousness as it is. He pauses at the staircase.

"Perhaps we should get Dedue? We could use his strength getting him up the stairs."

She nods at that and five minutes later, she's back with the prince's retainer following in tow. Dedue doesn't ask any questions and instead goes to support his liege from the other side. Byleth doesn't argue when she's tasked to carry his belongings for the rest of the way.

Dimitri is barely conscious when they settle him in bed. Rodrigue takes his leave after, stating he has much to think about after what he just witnessed. Dedue chooses to stand guard outside. Byleth recalls how cold he felt in her arms and tucks him in. She adds his fur cloak on top for extra measure. When she exits his quarters, she finds herself face to face to the waiting eyes of her students.

Felix and Sylvain must have woken to the ruckus. By the looks on their faces, they've already been informed. The Fraldarius heir takes one look at her before turning away with an exasperated huff. Sylvain actually surveys her stained cheeks and reddened eyes, and gazes at her with pity.

"Tried to leave, didn't he?" Felix pipes up, shaking his head. "What a nuisance. This many months in, and he's still so far gone."

Sylvain ignores his insults and tips his head towards the end of the hall. "You don't look well, Professor. Get some rest. We can take over from here."

* * *

She retires to the Captain's quarters that night. She's been sleeping on Jeralt's old couch since the battle at the bridge. There's something about staying in the student dormitories that doesn't sit right. Empty as they are now, she will face more of them on the battlefield.

Tonight, she feels quite ill. Her throat is sore and dry. Her limbs are cold.

She unlatches the armour off her arms and massages her wrist. Holding off Dimitri, even for that brief moment, wasn't easy. Watching him struggle to fight his demons was even harder. Her mind goes to Jeralt instead and how much she wishes he were still here. She wishes it every night.

A knock on her door alerts her stance and she glances briefly behind her. Green hair. Seteth.

The older man observes her with a tilt of his head. "Should I call for a healer?"

She shakes her head.

He pauses, noting how her gaze flits to Jeralt's old things. His old armour, sword, his old books. "You must be thinking of your Father."

She remembers the rain.

A flash of red hair sauntering behind him and how in that instant, her world became bent and then broken. Not even divine intervention could save him. She'd been rendered powerless, crushed by the hands of fate. She clung desperately in the pouring rain, forgetting her students were there. She thought of how nothing could possibly hurt more than when he died in her arms and breathed his last.

"You miss him, don't you?"

She nods. "I do."

"Perhaps you should spend the next days in rest. We're due to arrive in Gronder Field soon."

"Of course," she says, even though the reminder is bitter. She listens to Seteth's fading footsteps as he retires to his own room.

When she drifts off to sleep, she doesn't think of Gronder Field or the pain in her body or the even the war itself. Instead, her mind flashes to the moments before, when he looked at her with a brokenness she'd never seen. Dimitri thinking he caused her so much pain, but that wasn't the case at all. A rising sensation growing in her chest, settling uncomfortably and manifesting in tears. She didn't think she could feel so much for anyone besides her Father. She held him close for a long while to subdue her fear of him wandering off alone.

She falls asleep, a soft prayer on her lips that he never scares her like that again.


	3. Chapter 3

_I entrust the young prince, and the future of Faerghus to you._

The clash at Gronder Field feels like an uphill battle. Soon the ground lays waste to students she once knew. There's no use turning the hands of time. Things won't go back to normal, if it ever was. Victory in war has always been paid with lives and spilt blood.

_All I ask is that you continue to rein in Dimitri's manic desire for revenge._

The battle is punctuated with a death of their own. Rodrigue is killed shielding Dimitri, bound to the same fate as Glenn. He's now fulfilled his promise to the late King. Byleth bites her lip as he whispers his dying words – apologies to Felix, urging Dimitri to live for himself. He briefly glances in her direction and she nods, acknowledging what he asked of her.

Afterwards, Dimitri stays on his knees. His eye is closed. His hair falls and covers his face. She hopes he sees now that revenge comes a cost. Byleth knows it will be the same with Edelgard. She will haunt him just the same.

_I'm glad you were the one to lead the Blue Lion house, Professor._

Rodrigue has passed her the torch to guide the prince in his stead. She won't fail him.

* * *

The journey back to Garreg Mach is quiet.

Felix insists he needs nothing. He refuses apologies or condolences from soldiers. He won't be coddled or treated differently by his teammates. Dimitri is just the same, except he won't say anything at all. How unfortunate, because if not for Dimitri's temperament or Felix's stubbornness, Byleth thinks their shared grief could help each other the most.

Felix hides behind a façade of exhaustion. His family has served the Blaiddyd bloodline for generations, but it has left him without a brother and father. He might care and believe Dimitri will have a change of heart, but Byleth still wishes with fervent desperation his hope doesn't wane.

Perhaps Dimitri feels the same. The somber look he shoots his stubborn friend on a lucid day is more than telling. As if he wouldn't blame him for abandoning him or his noble station at all, even if they'd been best friends at one time.

* * *

It's raining. He can hear the pitter-patter of drops against the window pane. The clouds filter away the sun, making the room dim and dank, but it's almost calming. He's used to this kind of darkness. When Dimitri opens his eyes, he registers he's lying on one of the infirmary beds. When he turns to the window to glance at the rain, he startles.

There's a woman standing there, her vacant gaze locked to the view of the monastery.

Silver white hair. Gowned in red. She wears horns for a crown.

He hates the sight of her. Grunting, he reaches for his lance, which stands against the wall at his bedside. He winces when he moves, but he grits his teeth and bears it.

"Don't move. You'll reopen your wounds."

She sounds the same. The tone of her voice strict and commanding. Edelgard was never gentle with him, even when they were children. Even at the academy, where she scoffed at his concerns. The sound of her voice grates his ears now.

He ignores her and sits up anyway, ignoring the blood rushing from his head, leaving him with a throbbing headache. He questions what she's doing here. She's supposed to be in Enbarr, devising tactics and scheming to get Fódlan under her control. He's supposed to meet her there.

"Hmm. You're not even real," he says gruffly.

"How cruel," she says, feigning an affronted look.

He despises how she tries to manipulate him even now. "Leave me."

"I'm afraid I have no choice in the matter." Edelgard turns to him with a sigh, heavy cape swishing behind her. Her arms are crossed around her middle. The heels of her boots thump against the hardwood floors as she draws closer. She has the gall to take the stool at his bedside. He attempts to erase her from his mind, but it's to no avail.

"Oh, my dear brother…" she starts, eyes glazing and inspecting him whole. She sees him now – his body covered with scars, fingers bent and broken, eye gauged and rendered useless from battle. She settles on his face where darkness colours the skin under his eyes. He can't stop her, even though he wants nothing more than to wipe the pity off her face.

"Edelgard. Leave me. Now," he repeats, a looming threat in his voice this time round.

"I've told you already," she says coolly, unfazed by his crazed disposition. "It is _you_ who lacks the will to leave _me_. Even after all this time, you still cannot let me go."

_Let her go? _He knows no reason why she would be here except…_No_. Has she become one of his ghosts? Is she…_dead_? Was he the one who…?

She reads his mind and clears her throat, forcing him to look. When he turns, she opens her arms and lets him see for himself. His nose crinkles and lips curl in disgust.

A bloody wound is carved below her chest, splitting her skin apart. The soaked patch of blood in her stomach grows, seeping down to her legs and knees. Even now her wound still oozes and festers. Life withers out of her as they speak. He looks to her face in search for answers.

"Did I-" He hesitates and gags a little, not knowing why he falters when this is what he wanted. "Tell me. Did I do that to you?"

Edelgard doesn't let up, even for a moment. She pulls down the neckline of her dress, revealing the jagged and uneven slits at her throat. Angry red lines and unclean, serrated edges. How hasty he must have been when he severed her head from her body. Even after all this, he finds no arrogance or haughtiness in her face. Instead, her features are scrunched in pain, like these wounds still hurt even after she's passed.

He retches. The sight finally does him in and he looks away. So it's true. She haunts him too.

"I…I don't understand…" He buries his face in his hands and sighs in defeat. Why does he sting with regret after wanting her death for so long? Why does she haunt him? "El, I…I'm…" He thinks back on their childhood days when he encouraged her to live for herself. "I-I'm so sorry," is the first thing that comes to his mind, absurd as it is.

"You apologize for murder?" She raises him a brow, rightfully so. He must sound foolish. His apology irks her, because she stiffens in her seat and expression hardens. "You are deluded. How much did my life matter then?"

Dimitri is unable to look her in the eye, even as she rains down on him.

He hears her sigh in exasperation. She continues without mercy. "Was it worth it? To hear the scream tearing from my lips? To see blood gushing from my chest?"

He doesn't miss the cruelty in her words. He thinks he deserves it. Instead he looks down at his hands, thinking of the destruction and death they've caused. The throbbing in his head pounds harder the more she scorns him.

"How naïve of you to believe the voices would _stop_. To think that my death would be your salvation. Everything you have done has become in vain! Pitiful you are," she spits harsh and unapologetic. "Am I not here by your own hands? Your own undoing? Tell me, Dimitri. Have I not become someone else you failed to save?"

He makes a frustrated noise as he cradles his head. "Stop or I will silence you myself!"

She laughs. "Ha! Silence me? So long as you tread in darkness, you will never be rid of me. I _swear_ it."

He refuses to look, but she must be leaning closer now. Her sharp words are so clear and certain, echoing loud in his ears.

"You are a failure, dear brother. How could someone as weak and pathetic as yourself ever hope to become King? I would never bow to you. You can hardly control your own nature, or save your own _kin_…"

Her voice hitches at the last part. He remember now she was once precious to him. He used to cherish their childhood. They shared a mother. He once gifted her something so important.

He listens to her footsteps as they fade into the background. She's leaving, he realizes. After a while, he cautiously peers upwards, finding relief when she's gone. He still wishes this would stop.

Soon there's light humming on his other side. Fatigued, he looks to his right. A young girl sits, carefully examining a weapon in her hands. He was foolish to think she would leave him so easily. This one is different though. There's innocence in her eyes. Purple ribbons in her hair. Seeing the brown colour of her hair reminds him she harboured her own darkness.

She notices him staring. "Oh, you're awake now." This time, her voice doesn't bother him at all. He watches as a young Edelgard hops off the stool and stands at the edge of his bedside. She holds the weapon out to him, perhaps to give it back. "I've been meaning to ask. Why did you give this to me? I don't know how to use it."

He groans lightly. As much as a part of him wants to take the dagger, carve out her heart and sever her head with it, he cannot do it. She is a mere child. She has committed no bloodshed. All his memories of this girl are fond and cherished. Instead, he tries to soften the hard edges on his face.

"You…you're supposed to use it to carve your future," he explains wearily. The concept seems jaded now, maybe even backfired on him, but it meant the world when he gave it to her.

She purses her lips. "My future? How?"

He shakes his head. "It's symbolic. More of a gesture…I gave it to you so you could decide your own path. Don't let others decide for you. You have to do it yourself."

"Oh…" There's a light in her eyes now, one that he never saw at the academy. She looks at the weapon with new understanding, admiring it now. "…I can do anything I want?"

He gulps. It breaks his heart, because even after all the death and destruction committed by her misguided hands, he still feels the same. She deserves that very right. "Yes. Anything."

She beams and he misses her. He remembers the time they spent as children, misses the stories they shared of their mother. He wants her to stay, before she disappears and withers with time. Before darkness gets a hold of her. And for a second, he thinks killing her so brutally was a mistake. His most grievous error. Maybe he could still save her. He could offer out his hand, just as the Professor has always-

"Dimitri!"

With a choked-off cry, Dimitri shoots up from the bed, eye flashing wide open. He darts around the room looking for her and finds no blood or lilac eyes. Instead he's met with the gazes of Ashe and Mercedes at either side, Dedue standing behind the latter. They peer down at him with concern and caution. Ashe removes his hands from his shoulders and Dimitri looks to him in desperation.

"Where is she?"

"Who?"

"El. Where is she?" It comes out before he registers none of them know her by that name. Besides the Professor, no one even knows of their past relations.

"Do you mean…Edelgard?" Mercedes's soft voice pipes up. He pauses, and she takes his silence as affirmation. "Well, she must be in Enbarr, right?" She looks to Dedue behind her, who nods.

He breathes a heavy sigh of relief. _She's alive then. _Dimitri finally glances around the room and at himself. His arms are wrapped in bandages and he winces at a pain at his ribs. He doesn't remember how he got here, much less what day it is.

"Umm…" Ashe hesitates and it stings, because he knows he's been prone to lashing out. "You started thrashing in your sleep. We worried you might hurt yourself. That's why we woke you."

Mercedes hums in agreement. "That's right. You gave us quite a scare. You must have been having a terrible dream."

Dimitri nods slowly. He remembers her bloody form with absolute clarity. "Ah, yes. It was a terrible dream."

He's met with strange gazes. They seem…surprised. The past months have been rather hazy – he can hardly recall the long stretches he spent in the cathedral. Perhaps it's rather abnormal _not _to find him grumbling and snarling at his peers.

"Your Highness. How do you feel?" Dedue asks.

He clears his throat, dry and coarse all of a sudden. "Better," he gets out before deciding to say it again, more for his sake. "…I feel better."

Mercedes puts a hand to her heart. Ashe smiles wide, fear no longer in his eyes. Dedue nods at him. He shifts his gaze to the window where a simple white curtain blows with the wind. Edelgard still walks this world, roaming in a darkness of her own. He clenches his hands at the thought of it and then pushes it to the back of his mind. For now, he focuses on his peers, to whom he owes his life.

"I…Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. For taking care of me. I understand I have not made things easy," he starts, sounding much like the Dimitri they knew then. Their house leader and friend. "I cannot promise I will never slip back to my darker ways, but…"

Mercedes shakes her head. "Oh, Dimitri. It's okay."

He doesn't need to say anything else, just looks at them with gratitude. He swears to return the favour one day.

"I'll go inform our Professor he's woken up," Ashe pipes up, already turning his heel for the door.

_Ah, the Professor..._Dimitri attempts to turn and swing his legs over the edge, but he stops to hold onto his side, still sore and bruised.

"Please do not overexert yourself, your Highness. Perhaps you should take this time to rest," Dedue says, ever the voice of reason. Dimitri doesn't argue. He knows he cannot win this battle and eases himself back to bed.

"Of course."

* * *

His darkness still shows from time to time, but it's better. Years of harbouring hatred and anger does not leave him so easily, much less overnight. Mercedes and Annette tell her there are days when he seems to hold no darkness at all as he engages in conversation not of war or destruction. But then there are days he wakes up angry. Even if he quiets the voices in his head they still whisper.

Byleth peruses the thought as she ushers the horses into the stable, keeping them away from the rain and pending storm. She rushes a little because she needs to seek shelter herself. Her cloak has become soaked and heavy. It sticks to her back rather uncomfortably. Her boots have gathered water in their soles. She could catch a cold.

She pauses briefly at the sound of footsteps drawing closer. She doesn't look. She knows the rhythm of Dimitri's step, knows the heavy metal thuds that make up his gait. She's become too familiar with his behaviours these past few months. She catches the frown on his face as she locks the bolts to the stable.

He's withdrawn today, if the brooding look on his face tells her anything.

In this relentless rain, she listens as talks solemnly of the dead. One of his ghosts must have urged him to continue down his path of revenge. He tells her he cannot stop and he must have his vengeance. It's been nine years in the making. Everything he's done up until now will help him secure his goal, and she shouldn't try to convince him otherwise. There's pain in his confession, because it makes her feel used, ashamed even. Regardless, she tells him what he needs to hear.

He's wrong. He ought to forgive himself. Live for what he believes.

Somehow, and perhaps because he's always known, her words find their mark. Finally, he considers the possibility of _living – _not for retribution's sake, but for his own wonder if he's even deserving of such a precious gift.

Byleth's answer is the same as it's always been.

She offers her hand out to him.

He didn't take it the first time.

This time, he does. It's not without fear or hesitation, but that's okay.

She knows now his distaste for fragile things was his fear of himself. It was never a lack of understanding of his own strength, but rather what he was capable of doing when his mind spiralled out of his control. She knows he resents himself for becoming that person. And yet, she sees how delicately he folds her hands in his, and knows he's not that person anymore.

She looks at their hands, hers wrapped in his larger ones. She lets go, but only to unlatch his metal gauntlet and tuck it under her arm. Gently, she examines the criss-cross marks along his arm and his long calloused fingers. He doesn't resist as her fingers scour his skin, tracing old scars and wounds.

She holds their hands together again, teaching him to intertwining them.

His gaze is trained on her fingers. He watches as raindrops run along them.

"Your hand is so warm…"

She doesn't say anything, just squeezes his hand gently.

When he looks up, he finds a new expression. A smile that reaches even her eyes, captures her joy, and bares her soul. He's drawn to it, mesmerized by it. He thinks it holds enough light for the whole world.

A calm settles inside and he memorizes her face, just as he did when he was a student. Gently, he squeezes her hand back, just as she hoped when his darkness breaks free.

* * *

Dimitri shows up the next meeting and for the first time, he seems nervous. When he asks a moment of their time, he wishes to give his sincerest apologies. He knows words are insufficient, but it's all he can offer. Instead, he promises to do the right thing moving forward.

Finally, he turns from Edelgard. He agrees to take back Fhirdiad. If he's uncomfortable with the idea, it doesn't show, even though she knows he has his reservations. The last time he'd been at the Kingdom capital was a difficult time.

When the meeting is over, he apologizes again to Felix, who hardly accepts it. In turn, he tells him to stop grovelling and then calls him a boar, albeit Byleth thinks it's on friendlier terms. Even now, Dimitri doesn't correct him. Perhaps the familiarity is more comforting than it seems.

* * *

Later, when victory rings in the streets of Fhirdiad, they hold a feast to mark the celebration. She lets them have it. They deserve the small luxury. She doesn't heart to tell anyone she's out of her comfort zone when they shove a wine glass in her hands or invite her for conversation. She only slips out when she sees the moon and stars have become visible in the sky.

The balcony is empty, but she shivers and wraps her cloak tighter to fend off the chill. It's cold enough her breath condenses when she blows heat into her hands. She hardly took up mercenary contracts here for this reason. She doesn't like to admit she struggles with the cooler temperatures. It's most noticeable during battle where suddenly, she's low on stamina and gasping for air crumbs. Her students seemed rather comfortable though.

She feels a sudden weight on her shoulders.

_Warmth_.

Around her, she finds the black and white furry tendrils of his cloak draped across her shoulders. Grateful, she pulls it securely around her and breathes in his scent. Dimitri moves to her side where she murmurs him a soft thanks. He stands there with only his armour, gaze trained to the night sky.

They stay like that for a moment. Staring the stars. Bathed in moonlight.

"I came here to thank you," he says, breaking silence.

She keeps her absent stare on a particularly bright star. "Hmm. You're welcome."

He snorts and laughs a little, distracting her. When she turns to him, he waves her concern away. "It's nothing. It's just…I wanted to explain."

Her expression crinkles apologetically. "Oh. I'm sorry."

Dimitri chuckles at the nostalgia. Even after all this hardship, his Professor is very much the same. She has strength in all the ways that matter, but struggles sometimes with human conversation. He finds it rather endearing, even as she considers it her weakness.

"I want…no, I _need_ you to understand how grateful I am," he starts finally. She listens on with silence and peers up at him thoughtfully. "You saved me from myself, pulled me from my darkness. I see now how misguided and destructive I was, even to the point of hurting you. Truly, I do not understand how you kept faith in me."

She nods and takes in every word, wondering how long he's been working up to say these things.

He clears his throat. "I hope you will accept my apologies. I am terribly sorry for the pain I caused. To be honest, I feel very undeserving of you."

She shakes her head. There's kindness in her eyes when she tells him not to dwell on such things. He doesn't argue, having accepted internally that his Professor always has the answers. Instead, he searches her face with a heavy-set gaze. She can be troubling to read at times, and she hasn't said a word since he started.

"How are you feeling?" he decides to ask.

A small smile tugs at her lips and her eyes are bright. "Happy." She tips her head to him. "And you?"

He chuckles, thinking he could ramble on and on about how he feels in this moment. "I feel grateful, relieved, glad, satisfied even…and happy as well. Is that too much?"

She shakes her head and remembers his beating heart. "Not at all."

A chilly breeze brushes past them, and she wraps his cloak even tighter. He has seen her struggling to adjust to the cooler temperatures, but the sight of her cocooned in his oversized cloak is charming. He hopes it doesn't deter her from staying.

Impulsively, he slips an arm around her and pulls her closer to his side. His heart thunders painfully against his chest, but Byleth doesn't pull away. She ducks her head and molds herself to him instead, and he finally sees how much she's shivering. Just for this moment, he allows himself to nuzzle against her hair, determined to share his warmth just as she's done for him.

When they pull away, he settles for her hand and intertwines their fingers.

"Thank you," he says again. "For saving me, day after day." He looks up at the stars again, a calm resolve fixed on his features. "Once the war is over, I hope you will allow me to do the same for you."

She squeezes his hand and follows his gaze to the moonlit sky. "Okay."

In this quiet night, where the moon is bright and the stars are gleaming, she imagines this is what the world must be like when the war is said and done. A steady breeze caressing her face. Listening to the quiet hums of nature. Watching the moon illuminate the sky. She can look up to the stars and remember the nights she spent in quiet prayer. Prayers for peace. For safety. For him to embrace light.

Tonight, she thanks her lucky stars her wish came true.

* * *

Thank you for reading! Dimitri's brokenness is so significant and essential to the Blue Lion arc that I desperately wanted to explore it. I want to thank all the lovely readers who left their thoughts and taken interest. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. – Mint


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